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    <title>1. CHAPTER VI</title>
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    <div class="chapter" id="id1034160"><h2>1. CHAPTER VI</h2>


<p id="id1034165"><span id="id116904"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->

The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again.  He came with
Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed to take very cordially. 
He had been sitting with her, it appeared, most companionably at home,
till her usual hour of exercise; and on being desired to chuse
their walk, immediately fixed on Highbury.—“He did not doubt there
being very pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to him,
he should always chuse the same.  Highbury, that airy, cheerful,
happy-looking Highbury, would be his constant attraction.”—
Highbury, with Mrs. Weston, stood for Hartfield; and she trusted to
its bearing the same construction with him.  They walked thither directly.
</p>

<p id="id1034169"><span id="id116912"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma had hardly expected them:  for Mr. Weston, who had called in
for half a minute, in order to hear that his son was very handsome,
knew nothing of their plans; and it was an agreeable surprize
to her, therefore, to perceive them walking up to the house together,
arm in arm.  She was wanting to see him again, and especially
to see him in company with Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to whom
her opinion of him was to depend.  If he were deficient there,
nothing should make amends for it.  But on seeing them together,
she became perfectly satisfied.  It was not merely in fine words
or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his duty; nothing could be
more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her—nothing could
more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as a friend and
securing her affection.  And there was time enough for Emma to form a
reasonable judgment, as their visit included all the rest of the morning. 
They were all three walking about together for an hour or two—
first round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards in Highbury. 
He was delighted with every thing; admired Hartfield sufficiently
for Mr. Woodhouse’s ear; and when their going farther was resolved on,
confessed his wish to be made acquainted with the whole village,
and found matter of commendation and interest much oftener than Emma
could have supposed.
</p>

<p id="id1034172"><span id="id116918"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings. 
He begged to be shewn the house which his father had lived in so long,
and which had been the home of his father’s father; and on recollecting
that an old woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest
of her cottage from one end of the street to the other; and though
in some points of pursuit or observation there was no positive merit,
they shewed, altogether, a good-will towards Highbury in general,
which must be very like a merit to those he was with.
</p>

<p id="id1034175"><span id="id116929"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma watched and decided, that with such feelings as were now shewn,
it could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily
absenting himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making
a parade of insincere professions; and that Mr. Knightley certainly
had not done him justice.
</p>

<p id="id1034178"><span id="id116926"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable house,
though the principal one of the sort, where a couple of pair of
post-horses were kept, more for the convenience of the neighbourhood
than from any run on the road; and his companions had not expected
to be detained by any interest excited there; but in passing it they
gave the history of the large room visibly added; it had been built
many years ago for a ball-room, and while the neighbourhood had been
in a particularly populous, dancing state, had been occasionally used
as such;—but such brilliant days had long passed away, and now the
highest purpose for which it was ever wanted was to accommodate a whist
club established among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen of the place. 
He was immediately interested.  Its character as a ball-room caught him;
and instead of passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two
superior sashed windows which were open, to look in and contemplate
its capabilities, and lament that its original purpose should
have ceased.  He saw no fault in the room, he would acknowledge
none which they suggested.  No, it was long enough, broad enough,
handsome enough.  It would hold the very number for comfort. 
They ought to have balls there at least every fortnight through
the winter.  Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former good
old days of the room?—She who could do any thing in Highbury! 
The want of proper families in the place, and the conviction
that none beyond the place and its immediate environs could be
tempted to attend, were mentioned; but he was not satisfied. 
He could not be persuaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw
around him, could not furnish numbers enough for such a meeting;
and even when particulars were given and families described, he was
still unwilling to admit that the inconvenience of such a mixture
would be any thing, or that there would be the smallest difficulty
in every body’s returning into their proper place the next morning. 
He argued like a young man very much bent on dancing; and Emma
was rather surprized to see the constitution of the Weston prevail
so decidedly against the habits of the Churchills.  He seemed to have
all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social inclinations
of his father, and nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. 
Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference
to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of mind. 
He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap. 
It was but an effusion of lively spirits.
</p>

<p id="id1034181"><span id="id116944"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown;
and being now almost facing the house where the Bateses lodged,
Emma recollected his intended visit the day before, and asked him
if he had paid it.
</p>

<p id="id1034185"><span id="id116955"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Yes, oh! yes”—he replied; “I was just going to mention it. 
A very successful visit:—I saw all the three ladies; and felt very
much obliged to you for your preparatory hint.  If the talking aunt
had taken me quite by surprize, it must have been the death of me. 
As it was, I was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit. 
Ten minutes would have been all that was necessary, perhaps all that
was proper; and I had told my father I should certainly be at home
before him—but there was no getting away, no pause; and, to my
utter astonishment, I found, when he (finding me nowhere else)
joined me there at last, that I had been actually sitting with them
very nearly three-quarters of an hour.  The good lady had not given me
the possibility of escape before.”
</p>

<p id="id1034144"><span id="id116962"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?”
</p>

<p id="id1034198"><span id="id116971"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Ill, very ill—that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed to look ill. 
But the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it? 
Ladies can never look ill.  And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally
so pale, as almost always to give the appearance of ill health.—
A most deplorable want of complexion.”
</p>

<p id="id1034202"><span id="id116978"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence of Miss
Fairfax’s complexion.  “It was certainly never brilliant, but she
would not allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there was
a softness and delicacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance
to the character of her face.”  He listened with all due deference;
acknowledged that he had heard many people say the same—but yet he
must confess, that to him nothing could make amends for the want
of the fine glow of health.  Where features were indifferent,
a fine complexion gave beauty to them all; and where they were good,
the effect was—fortunately he need not attempt to describe what the
effect was.
</p>

<p id="id1034200"><span id="id116986"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Well,“ said Emma, ”there is no disputing about taste.—At least
you admire her except her complexion.“
</p>

<p id="id1034209"><span id="id116996"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He shook his head and laughed.—“I cannot separate Miss Fairfax
and her complexion.”
</p>

<p id="id1034219"><span id="id117006"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Did you see her often at Weymouth?  Were you often in the same society?”
</p>

<p id="id1034225"><span id="id117015"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
At this moment they were approaching Ford’s, and he hastily exclaimed,
“Ha! this must be the very shop that every body attends every day
of their lives, as my father informs me.  He comes to Highbury himself,
he says, six days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford’s.
If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove
myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of Highbury. 
I must buy something at Ford’s. It will be taking out my freedom.—
I dare say they sell gloves.”
</p>

<p id="id1034228"><span id="id117023"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh! yes, gloves and every thing.  I do admire your patriotism. 
You will be adored in Highbury.  You were very popular before you came,
because you were Mr. Weston’s son—but lay out half a guinea at
Ford’s, and your popularity will stand upon your own virtues.”
</p>

<p id="id1034237"><span id="id117029"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
They went in; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of “Men’s Beavers”
and “York Tan” were bringing down and displaying on the counter,
he said—“But I beg your pardon, Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking
to me, you were saying something at the very moment of this burst
of my amor patriae.  Do not let me lose it.  I assure you the utmost
stretch of public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any
happiness in private life.”
</p>

<p id="id1034240"><span id="id117036"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax
and her party at Weymouth.”
</p>

<p id="id1034206"><span id="id117046"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“And now that I understand your question, I must pronounce it to be a
very unfair one.  It is always the lady’s right to decide on the degree
of acquaintance.  Miss Fairfax must already have given her account.—
I shall not commit myself by claiming more than she may chuse to allow.”
</p>

<p id="id1034250"><span id="id117053"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Upon my word! you answer as discreetly as she could do herself. 
But her account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed,
she is so very reserved, so very unwilling to give the least
information about any body, that I really think you may say what you
like of your acquaintance with her.”
</p>

<p id="id1034254"><span id="id117060"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“May I, indeed?—Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me
so well.  I met her frequently at Weymouth.  I had known the Campbells
a little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. 
Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a friendly,
warm-hearted woman.  I like them all.”
</p>

<p id="id1034257"><span id="id117067"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“You know Miss Fairfax’s situation in life, I conclude; what she
is destined to be?”
</p>

<p id="id1034263"><span id="id117077"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Yes—(rather hesitatingly)—I believe I do.”
</p>

<p id="id1034267"><span id="id117086"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,” said Mrs. Weston smiling;
“remember that I am here.—Mr. Frank Churchill hardly knows
what to say when you speak of Miss Fairfax’s situation in life. 
I will move a little farther off.”
</p>

<p id="id1034276"><span id="id117101"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I certainly do forget to think of her,” said Emma, “as having ever
been any thing but my friend and my dearest friend.”
</p>

<p id="id1034283"><span id="id117112"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment.
</p>

<p id="id1034289"><span id="id117121"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again,
“Did you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?”
said Frank Churchill.
</p>

<p id="id1034297"><span id="id117134"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Ever hear her!” repeated Emma.  “You forget how much she belongs
to Highbury.  I have heard her every year of our lives since we
both began.  She plays charmingly.”
</p>

<p id="id1034304"><span id="id117146"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“You think so, do you?—I wanted the opinion of some one who
could really judge.  She appeared to me to play well, that is,
with considerable taste, but I know nothing of the matter myself.—
I am excessively fond of music, but without the smallest skill
or right of judging of any body’s performance.—I have been used
to hear her’s admired; and I remember one proof of her being
thought to play well:—a man, a very musical man, and in love
with another woman—engaged to her—on the point of marriage—
would yet never ask that other woman to sit down to the instrument,
if the lady in question could sit down instead—never seemed
to like to hear one if he could hear the other.  That, I thought,
in a man of known musical talent, was some proof.”
</p>

<p id="id1034269"><span id="id117153"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Proof indeed!” said Emma, highly amused.—“Mr. Dixon is very musical,
is he?  We shall know more about them all, in half an hour, from you,
than Miss Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half a year.”
</p>

<p id="id1034317"><span id="id117167"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons; and I thought
it a very strong proof.”
</p>

<p id="id1034323"><span id="id117177"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Certainly—very strong it was; to own the truth, a great deal
stronger than, if I had been Miss Campbell, would have been at all
agreeable to me.  I could not excuse a man’s having more music
than love—more ear than eye—a more acute sensibility to fine
sounds than to my feelings.  How did Miss Campbell appear to like it?”
</p>

<p id="id1034309"><span id="id117184"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“It was her very particular friend, you know.”
</p>

<p id="id1034331"><span id="id117193"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Poor comfort!” said Emma, laughing.  “One would rather have a stranger
preferred than one’s very particular friend—with a stranger it might
not recur again—but the misery of having a very particular friend
always at hand, to do every thing better than one does oneself!—
Poor Mrs. Dixon!  Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in Ireland.”
</p>

<p id="id1034335"><span id="id117200"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“You are right.  It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell;
but she really did not seem to feel it.”
</p>

<p id="id1034333"><span id="id117210"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“So much the better—or so much the worse:—I do not know which. 
But be it sweetness or be it stupidity in her—quickness of friendship,
or dulness of feeling—there was one person, I think, who must have
felt it:  Miss Fairfax herself.  She must have felt the improper
and dangerous distinction.”
</p>

<p id="id1034346"><span id="id117217"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“As to that—I do not—”
</p>

<p id="id1034350"><span id="id117226"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh! do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax’s
sensations from you, or from any body else.  They are known to no
human being, I guess, but herself.  But if she continued to play
whenever she was asked by Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chuses.”
</p>

<p id="id1034353"><span id="id117233"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“There appeared such a perfectly good understanding among them all—”
he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added, “however, it
is impossible for me to say on what terms they really were—
how it might all be behind the scenes.  I can only say that there
was smoothness outwardly.  But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from
a child, must be a better judge of her character, and of how she
is likely to conduct herself in critical situations, than I can be.”
</p>

<p id="id1034357"><span id="id117240"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we have been children
and women together; and it is natural to suppose that we should
be intimate,—that we should have taken to each other whenever
she visited her friends.  But we never did.  I hardly know how it
has happened; a little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side
which was prone to take disgust towards a girl so idolized
and so cried up as she always was, by her aunt and grandmother,
and all their set.  And then, her reserve—I never could attach
myself to any one so completely reserved.”
</p>

<p id="id1034361"><span id="id117246"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,” said he.  “Oftentimes
very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing.  There is safety
in reserve, but no attraction.  One cannot love a reserved person.”
</p>

<p id="id1034364"><span id="id117260"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then the attraction
may be the greater.  But I must be more in want of a friend,
or an agreeable companion, than I have yet been, to take
the trouble of conquering any body’s reserve to procure one. 
Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me is quite out of the question. 
I have no reason to think ill of her—not the least—except that
such extreme and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner,
such a dread of giving a distinct idea about any body, is apt
to suggest suspicions of there being something to conceal.”
</p>

<p id="id1034372"><span id="id117267"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He perfectly agreed with her:  and after walking together so long,
and thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him,
that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting. 
He was not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the
world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune,
therefore better than she had expected.  His ideas seemed more moderate—
his feelings warmer.  She was particularly struck by his manner
of considering Mr. Elton’s house, which, as well as the church,
he would go and look at, and would not join them in finding much
fault with.  No, he could not believe it a bad house; not such a house
as a man was to be pitied for having.  If it were to be shared with
the woman he loved, he could not think any man to be pitied for having
that house.  There must be ample room in it for every real comfort. 
The man must be a blockhead who wanted more.
</p>

<p id="id1034376"><span id="id117274"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he was talking about. 
Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking how many
advantages and accommodations were attached to its size, he could
be no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small one. 
But Emma, in her own mind, determined that he did know what he
was talking about, and that he shewed a very amiable inclination
to settle early in life, and to marry, from worthy motives. 
He might not be aware of the inroads on domestic peace to be
occasioned by no housekeeper’s room, or a bad butler’s pantry,
but no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe could not make
him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he would willingly
give up much of wealth to be allowed an early establishment.
</p>



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